


Masterpiece

by Serpex



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Bottom Armin, College AU, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Death, Fantasy Realism, Food Kink, Food Play, Jearmin - Freeform, M/M, Modern AU, mature - Freeform, riren - Freeform, semi-realistic, top jean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12061269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpex/pseuds/Serpex
Summary: In the town of Trost, there lies two men who are worthy enough to be known as gods in the culinary field. Both are renowned graduates  from the 104th class under Sasha, the potato queen, at the Survey Corps Academy. But, one town can't have two esteemed establishments. With their future businesses on the line, Jean and Armin are determined to duke it out in one final battle of the chefs.The winner takes whatever he desires.





	Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be eventually a smutty fic between Jean and Armin. Partially written cuz why the heck not? But also in part of my apologies for... well... ya know, KILLING Jean in Tenebrous Skies, and then STABBING him with a trident in Holding On...... and anything else I end up doing to him between then and now... so hoping to make it up in this fanfic. Special thanks to people who read the original crack chapter that I had as a preface. But, that setting is much more lighthearted than what I’m about to bring. Masterpiece is now my main project so hopefully I can update it soon ^^

The raven cawed in short exaggerated crips, repetitive and fitting under the evening's hue. Waves crashed against the ragged shore nipping away the forefront of the tall cliff. The ever looming shadow of earth towered over the pit below. The birds circled around a lone figure who sat in the middle of wild grass that stood as tall as he was and danced a light-hearted tango cheered on by the shaking trees. With the sinking sun as his only light painting the pages of his book a light amber rose pink, the boy read the words sentence by sentence. A movie rippled through his mind like a mental film reel ticking along frame by frame. The imaginary sounds of the leaping oil and chopping knives dicing and sautéing ingredients. There was action in the silence until the final word was glossed over and a single image laid frozen in his mind.

A golden brown chicken seasoned with onions and garlic blanketing atop a hearty bowl of rice.

The cookbook in his hands was a trove of recipes. There was magic in cooking, and yet it was an art that was as forbidden as it was revered. It pained him to know this was the only time he had to embrace this knowledge. With the sky sinking into a peach colored dream, the boy returned the tattered book into a wooden chest and buried it back into the ground. The boy then dashed back to town under flickering lights and diminishing crowds of people with the raven in tow. The street restaurant his parents owned soon came into view. He snuck under the side fence past the cashier's half-lidded gaze and into the far corner of the open air dining room where the bathroom was. Just before he could tiptoe over, however, a banshee screeched through the dining room.

"What did you do?!" his mother screamed. "What have I told you about keeping yourself clean? Your family owns a restaurant, and you must be formal and courteous no matter what. If your clothes are dirty, people think you dress dirty. And if you are dirty, people think that we are dirty. And you do not sully our family name. Ever."

"I'm sorry, ma," the boy mumbled as tears began to form in large blobs and bubbles on his lashes. His mother only clicked her tongue before waddling back to the kitchen. With heavy footsteps, he continued to the bathroom disheartened and hollow. The sink water became a murky brown and drained what felt like the boy's soul; a dark essence circling forever until there was nothing left but an empty slate.

It was a slandering blow. While the boy had nothing against his parents or his family business, it was them that refused to allow their own child to continue their legacy. They were renowned chefs with recipes that could satisfy even the pickiest of palettes. But they rigidly disapproved any notion that their son would offer to become as great as them. They would spout these euphorias of becoming a doctor, engineer, or even a teacher. Yet, the boy couldn't help but feel the need to cook alongside his parents.

That night, he asked his parents if he could spend the night at his grandfather's, a plump man who wore a constant rose red upon his cheeks and a smile that never grew old. Although his bedtime was over, his grandfather made no opposition when the boy sat on his lap and began to cry. It was a saddening routine that they were used to. His grandfather did not need any words to know why his grandson was sobbing again. It was clear and painful to see.

His children by blood and in law who raised this boy were demanding and strict. He knew their reason and would not convey those motives to the boy no matter what. But nothing would be same after that night. 

As they both fell into a quiet night with snoring, blaring sirens suddenly filled the street. A hazardous rapping at the door berated the two left in slumber. An officer stood with a solemn faced shadowed even more in the pale streetlight luminescence. The news he bore was like a hammer crashing into a mirror. The boy was a reflection of his parents and yet now he was free with a price to stand on his own.

His parents were dead, burned down in a fire.

He should have been distraught, dismayed, screaming, or even hitting the officer for bringing such a horror.

But the boy only paused before laughing. They were small giggles at first until it grew into a proud cackling. The officer and the grandfather could only stand in sheer shock and dread at the cheerful child.

The raven sat on a branch away from sight but watching all the same. He let out an indifferent caw before fluttering away leaving the cackling behind.


End file.
